Chapter 25

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I have ... baggage.”

Even though he didn’t know for sure that the messages had been from Amy, even though he knew it could be a wind-up or a trap, Will couldn’t help but feel like he was getting ready for a school night date as he showered, shaved and picked out his outfit. It took him a long time to decide what to wear. Jeremy often said that Will had more clothes than most women.

He stood in front of his double wardrobe in nothing but a pair of tight, white hipsters, trying to decide between a formal outfit and something more casual. He reasoned that Amy had only seen him suits recently, and so picked out his most expensive designer jeans and one of the shirts he had bought for his Iberian holiday with Jeremy the previous summer.

It was a warm night as Will drove to Lizzie’s Arnoldwood home. He arrived almost exactly an hour after receiving the last text message. Amy was sitting on the garden wall waiting for him, wearing a short, black, pleated skirt and sleeveless white blouse. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. She looked every bit as much of a teenager as he felt. He had butterflies in his stomach—a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his daughter was born.

She leapt from the wall and ran to the car as fast as her heels would carry her. He reached across to open the door before she got there and she flopped into the seat with her handbag on her lap. She stared at him with a manic grin, then she put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him towards her. Their lips met, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and ran it along his teeth.

“Well,” he said when she pulled away from him. “I guess that answers one of my questions.”

“Questions?”

He smiled. “Maybe later. I wasn’t sure those messages were from you. I didn’t recognise the number.”

“So you took a chance?”

He held up both hands as if they were a set of scales weighing his decision. “Risk being made a fool of or miss out on spending some time with you. Hmm, no contest.”

She blushed. “Thanks. Yeah, I’m sorry, but I meant to tell you sooner. I’ve bought a cheap pre-pay phone just for calling you.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want your number showing up on my regular bill in case John looks at it.”

“Is he likely to?”

She shook her head. “But better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. So, where to?”

“Do you know Capello’s?”

“The little Italian place in Church Avenue?”

“Yep. That one. I’ve booked us a table.”

“So you have me drive out here to pick you up and then go all the way back to Westmouth to eat. Do you have any idea how much this thing drinks in petrol? It costs me a fortune.”

She shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s safer. John knows too many people with wagging tongues in Walminster.”

Will shook his head, put the car back into gear and pulled away. Twenty minutes later he drove along the Westmouth seafront. Church Avenue was the last but one side street at the west end of the promenade. He parked in one of the spaces by the beach and they crossed the road to the restaurant.

Capello’s Ristorante occupied the ground floor of a three-storey terrace house, with offices on the upper two floors. It was owned by the Italian head chef Mario Capello and his English wife Rita. Mario and Rita were clients of JMS. Jeremy was their company lawyer and had recently renegotiated the lease on the restaurant for them. Will had written their wills and dealt with Mario’s mother’s estate when she passed away three years previously.

“Will Brown,” Rita said as they entered. “So nice to see you. We are fully booked I’m afraid, but I’m sure I can squeeze you in at your favourite table.”

“Apparently, we have a reservation,” Will said.

“Really? I didn’t see your name down here.” She ran her finger down the names in her reservation book and shook her head. “No. I don’t see any Brown.”

“It’s under the name Robinson,” Amy said. Will looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.

“Ah, yes. I see. Table twelve, but I can move you if you like.”

“That would be kind.”

“Not a problem for my second favourite lawyer.”

“Second favourite?”

Rita smiled. “Did you see the reduction in rent that Jeremy negotiated for us?”

Will laughed and nodded. “Okay. I’ll let that one go.”

Rita led them to the table and handed out menus. “I’ll get you a bottle of our best Pinot Griso.”

“Thanks,” said Will. He pulled out a chair for Amy and pushed it forward as she sat, then took the seat opposite. The table was in a secluded alcove in the corner of the dining room, which was very intimate in any case with its low, beamed ceiling and dim wall lights. There was a red candle and single red rose on each table.

“She knows you,” Amy said.

“Clients,” Will explained.

“I kind of guessed that, William. But it’s more than that. This is your favourite table?”

“Well, I’ve brought one or two women here over the years.”

“Anything serious?”

“One. But people say she’s way too young for me.”

Amy grinned. “You mean your daughter?”

“Yeah. She loves it here. Says they do the best pizza she’s ever had.”

Rita returned with a bottle of wine, poured them both a glass and took their order.

“Why did you use your maiden name?” Will asked.

“I guess...” She held her wine glass in her left hand and Will noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. “I don’t think it would have felt right to come to dinner with you as Mrs Nugent.”